


What ties us together

by Quamatoc



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anarchist!Clint, Coming Out, Deaf Clint Barton, Demisexual Clint Barton, F/M, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Genius Tony Stark, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker and Tony Stark are related, Roomates/Housemates, Soulmates, They are a mess becoming a family, varying soulmate identifying mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22724998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quamatoc/pseuds/Quamatoc
Summary: Clint Barton is a broke Biology student at UMass Amherst, struggling to find a new home. In finding it he finds a thing or two more. You see there is such a thing as Soulmates but no one know excatly how it works - given that everybody coud find their Soulmate in a different way and Clint being Deaf making his situation somewhat complicated.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, platonic James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Winterhawk Valentine's Day 2020 Blind Date Exchange





	What ties us together

**Author's Note:**

> Long time lurker, first time poster.  
> This is for @pherryt.  
> As my plot bunnies tend to multiply and I have only minuscle amounts of time for writing I will continue this in irregular intervals and rewrite it at a later date.  
> The character "<" marks incoming text messages, the other one ">" outgoing as I have yet to figure out how to change alignment in my markdown editor.  
> Sit back and enjoy.

> Never are we so vulnerable as when we love. - Siegmund Freud

_The mechanism behind soulmates as a whole and the identifying attributes are still unknown. Several tries have been made to explain the phenomenon of soulmates. Even within the same category of soulmate the manner ranges from simple errors in pigmentation to telepathic contact.  
Also the age at which soulmates 'find' each other varies greatly. There are cases known of soulmates as young as six years and as old as 65 years old. Although the majority of soulmates meet - so to say - during puberty or in early twenties. Great differences in age are not common but not unheard of either._   
_ On Soulmates _

Clinton Barnes was deeply troubled. Last week he received a letter from his landlord that not only the house had been sold, the new owner intended to tear the building down. The eviction was not due for two weeks but he still hadn't found a new place to stay, not even temporarily. His thoughts swirled around as he weaved through the masses from the lecture building to the library. His way was smooth until he ran into somebody. He stumbled and apologized recovering. The dull whistle in his ears signaled him that the batteries of his hearing aids where giving in. His budget was already tight, even with the money from the grant and now he had to look for a new home in the already overheated housing market of Amherst. The local fraternities advertised openings in the library and often enough some would look for a roommate in order to manage the rent.  
Upon entering the library he made a beeline for the as usual crowded the notice board. Lo and behold in the lower corner there was a note saying

> Looking for a place to live? Unwilling to pay a small fortune for a broom closet? Unsusceptible to noises in the odd hours a of night, noxious fumes or weird findings in the fridge? If so call 015734895254.

Clinton was curious and suspicious. Offers like these were either fraudulent or a halfway house turned dorm with bunk beds and no personal space whatsoever. But he was also desperate, so he decided to give it a shot. He took a picture of the note and went to find a study cubicle. ' It's all fun and games until it's about money .' he thought. Soon enough he found an empty cubicle. He pondered how to contact the the number then decided on writing a text to the number.  
`>` Hey. Saw your note. I am interested.  
Within a minute his phone buzzed. The offerer called him! He hung up. Even with completely loaded aids a telephone call was still difficult. Not to mention with near dead batteries. So he wrote a new text: `>` Sorry. I'm more comfortable with written conversations.  
`<` You think I'm some kind of nutjob, right? Probably my bad for writing a rather sketchy ad.  
`>` Does the offer still stand?  
`<` Yes. Just give me your name and I will contact you as soon I have enough candidates.  
`>` The name would be Clinton. Why contact on a number of candidates?  
`<` Well, Clinton, I prefer to separate suitable from unsuitable candidates in one sweep.  
`>` That's unusual but fair. Guess you'll write me soon enough.  
And with this end of communication he began his studies which were quite uneventful. It was quite dark when he left the library. He looked at his watch. It read 21:47. He groaned because he would definitively miss the weekly meeting of the Amherst "Food not bombs" chapter. One of the few activities for his spare time. He unchained his bike and thought on his way home about the next steps. Given that he would likely move in the next week plans had to be made. Hiring professional movers was a) way to expensive and b) not necessary to for his meager belongings. A U-Haul seemed the wiser choice although he would need help with some of his unwieldy furniture. Maybe the guy next door, Bruce, could help. His brain wandered to other topics but had no time to mull them as he arrived at his home: A quite nondescript 6 floor brick building. He started his hike to the third floor. He met nobody not surprising at quarter past ten. After putting his stuff away he went to knock on the door of his neighbor.  
Bruce opened slightly ruffled: "Yes? What's up, Barton?"  
"Hey. I'm moving soon and I'd need some help with stuff and wondered ..."  
"If you could count on my help?"  
"Jep. Looks that way. You willing?"  
"You know that I am as screwed and broke as anybody else?"  
"Yes. I can scare up some money if that's what you're looking for."  
"No, money would be nice but we both know that I need a new place to live."  
"Well, I happen to know that my future landlord is still looking for tenants."  
"You mean to tell me that there is space available?"  
"Yes. I can give you the landlords contact, if would like."  
"That I do. You'd give me a post tomorrow? Gotta turn in now."  
"Sure thing. Thanks and have a good night."  
Nodding his head Bruce closed the door and left Clint to his devices. Quite literally because his hearing aids died the very next minute. Groaning he went into his home. Even though he decoupled the batteries every night, they continued to burn through batteries. Soon enough he would have to ration them which he didn't like. His sleep was more fitful than anything else. He dreamed of of shouts in a guttural language which he oddly enough understood somewhat. Which was unusual to him knowing no other spoken language than English. As woke up next morning his brain felt upsidedown. Consequently he went through his lecture like a automaton barely interacting with anybody. The next days his sleep wouldn't get any better except for his understanding of the weird language in his dreams. On a Saturday he received a text.  
`>` The tenants will be picked coming Thursday at 113 Lincoln Avenue. Come at 2030 hours sharp.  
`<` Hey. A friend of mine is looking for a place. May I bring him with me?  
`>` As long as he's reasonably legit: The more the merrier.  
With that out of the way he rushed over to Bruce. After frantically knocking a rather disgruntled Bruce opened the door. With a heavy frown Bruce tilted his head to check Clint's ears. 'What do you want?' his hands showing his agitation.  
"Well, you might remember the open space?"  
'Get in. Your volume is odd.' Bruce interrupted him. He stepped in Bruce's slightly unkempt home and Bruce closed the door behind them.  
'So? What about the space?'  
"I said I would give you the number but my brain got a bit scrambled and…"  
'You forgot it.', interrupted Bruce.  
"Yes but the landlord just wrote me, I asked if you could come and you may. We good?"  
Bruce seemed not very pleased about Clint's forgetfulness but soothed by the fact he wouldn't have to chew him out, as Clint was already ashamed.  
"Fine.", his signs less taunt," When? Where? Anything to produce?"  
"Coming Thursday half past eight in the evening, 113 Lincoln Avenue. And not that I knew of, but I think a drivers license would be useful. Unusual guy, this landlord."  
Bruce grunted, noncommittally, and brought him to the door. "See your Thursday. Don't be late!", he said leaving.

The next few days he was torn between his excitement for his new home, the stress if his studies and his engagement at FNB. Come Thursday evening he stood in front of 113 Lincoln Avenue and looked on his watch: 20:25. His philosophy of being early once again fired back for he stood there since quarter past eight and began to freeze in the october evening. A sudden movement of the door in his peripherals startled him. Nobody was standing in the door frame so he assumed whoever would be his landlord had installed some kind of automated system. The open door probably was an invitation to enter the house. He stopped in the entryway to put his aids on and to chuck his coat before entering the hall. The hall was spaceous and looked surprisingly whealty for the modest facade. About a dozen chairs were spread in the hall. Clint felt a bit lost. Before he could impersonate Vincent Vega somebody else entered the room. A blonde six-foot-something guy with closely cropped hair and a shorter guy with shaggy brown hair entered the room.  
"Hey. I'm Steve. Steve Rogers." introduced the blonde guy himself extending a hand.  
"Barnes." was his companions brief introduction.  
"Barton, Clinton Barton." replied Clint shaking Steves hand.  
"So you're looking into this absolutely not suspicous offer too?" asked Steve.  
"Seems this way."  
"Lets get seated. I have a feeling whatever's gonna happen happens soon." said Mr. Barnes  
While the three of them were chatting more people had entered the room, among them Bruce, a red-haired woman and a blue-haired person. With the strokes of half past seven the host came.  
"Greetings everybody! I am Tony Stark.", he said elicting nervous whispering, "The what and how I will explain later but rest assured you are my shortlist. I sorted out the frauds, the lazy and the weird and now I will conduct the final testing with the mentioned noises, fumes and samples of my assorted chaos."  
For his extravangance he was a very direct guy in pratical terms. First came a sound like two boxes worth of screws and washers thrown down a spiral staircase. As the sound faded the smell of burned rubber assaulted their olfactory sense to which Bruce jolted upright. After that came a sound reminiscent to a fire alert and bikes of a jogging ramp mixed together with the smell of something burning and a very foul substance. After that point Clints world was -- at least temporarily -- with out sound. He could do nothing against the increasingly pungent smells or his surprised reaction of something horribly misfiring in a wall. After several minutes everything came to to a stand still and Clint dared to activate his aids again. He took a look around only six of them were left: him, Bruce, Steve, Barnes, the red-haired woman and the person with blue hair. "Well, this should conclude my selection. Welcome to the mighty halls of Tony Stark!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thus concludes my first of possibly any chapters. Constructive criticism and kudos greatly appreciated.  
> As of present I am looking for a beta. Just write me a message if you'd want do a beta read.


End file.
